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Introduction To Modified Gravity Second Edition Albert Petrov Jose Roberto Nascimento Paulo Porfirio Online Ebook Texxtbook Full Chapter PDF
Introduction To Modified Gravity Second Edition Albert Petrov Jose Roberto Nascimento Paulo Porfirio Online Ebook Texxtbook Full Chapter PDF
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SpringerBriefs in Physics
Series Editors
Egor Babaev
Department of Physics, Royal Institute of Technology,
Stockholm, Sweden
Malcolm Bremer
H. H. Wills Physics Laboratory, University of Bristol,
Bristol, UK
Xavier Calmet
Department of Physics and Astronomy, University of
Sussex, Brighton, UK
Francesca Di Lodovico
Department of Physics, Queen Mary University of London,
London, UK
Pablo D. Esquinazi
Institute for Experimental Physics II, University of Leipzig,
Leipzig, Germany
Maarten Hoogerland
University of Auckland, Auckland, New Zealand
Eric Le Ru
School of Chemical and Physical Sciences, Victoria
University of Wellington, Kelburn, Wellington, New Zealand
Dario Narducci
University of Milano-Bicocca, Milan, Italy
James Overduin
Towson University, Towson, MD, USA
Vesselin Petkov
Montreal, QC, Canada
Stefan Theisen
Max-Planck-Institut für Gravitationsphysik, Golm, Germany
Charles H. T. Wang
Department of Physics, University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen,
UK
James D. Wells
Department of Physics, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor,
MI, USA
Andrew Whitaker
Department of Physics and Astronomy, Queen’s University
Belfast, Belfast, UK
Paulo Porfirio
Departamento de Fisica, Federal University of Paraíba,
João Pessoa, Paraíba, Brazil
Paulo Porfirio
Email: pporfirio@fisica.ufpb.br
(1.1)
(1.2)
(1.3)
(1.4)
(1.5)
(1.6)
(1.8)
(1.11)
(1.13)
(1.14)
(1.15)
(1.16)
(1.17)
where , which implies the
following propagator in the momentum space:
(1.18)
(1.19)
(1.21)
(1.22)
(1.23)
Paulo Porfirio
Email: pporfirio@fisica.ufpb.br
2.1 Motivations
As we already noted in the Introduction, one of the ways to
modify gravity consists in introducing additional terms to
the geometric sector. Such terms are given by scalars
constructed on the base of the metric tensor, i.e. these
scalars are functions of the Riemann tensor, the Ricci
tensor, possibly, their covariant derivatives, and the scalar
curvature. In the simplest case the Lagrangian is the
function of the scalar curvature only, so, the action is
(2.1)
where, f(R) is a some function of the scalar curvature.
Since the Einstein gravity is very well observationally
confirmed, and the curvature of the Universe is known to
be small, it is natural to suggest that , with
, where is a small constant parameter, so that
Einstein-Hilbert term dominates. The case is very
interesting by various reasons, from power-counting
renormalizability to the possibility of cosmic acceleration,
so, it will be discussed in details. However, other values of
n, including even negative ones which called attention
recently, are also interesting. Another generalization of this
action is the suggestion that the Lagrangian depends also
on invariants and , such class of
theories is called f(R, Q, P) gravity, the paradigmatic
example of such theories is the Weyl gravity (see f.e. [13,
14] and references therein), where the Lagrangian includes
the square of the Weyl tensor, in D dimensions given by
(2.2)
2.2 -Gravity
Let us start with the action
(2.3)
A simple comparison of this expression with (1.19) shows
that this action is of the second order in curvatures, i.e. of
fourth order in derivatives, therefore the theory described
by this action is called -gravity. In principle, one can add
also the square of the Riemann tensor, however, since in
the four-dimensional space-time the Gauss-Bonnet term
is a total derivative, the
square of the Riemann tensor in is not independent.
We see that the additive term in this action exactly
matches the structure of the one-loop divergence arising in
the pure Einstein gravity (1.21). Therefore, the theory (2.3)
is one-loop renormalizable. Moreover, it is not difficult to
show that no other divergences arise in the theory. Here,
we demonstrate it in the manner similar to that one used
within the background field method for the super-Yang-
Mills theory [15]. Indeed, the propagator in this theory
behaves as . Any vertex involves no more than four
derivatives. Integration over internal momentum in any
loop yields the factor 4, hence formally the superficial
degree of divergence must be .
However, we should take into account that this is the upper
limit for , and each derivative acting to the external legs
instead of the propagator decreases by 1. Since , as
well as the Ricci tensor, involves second derivatives, each
external , , R decreases the by 2. Hence, the
or contributions will display only logarithmic
divergences, and higher-order contributions like will
yield being thus superficially finite. The presence of
Faddeev-Popov (FP) ghosts evidently does not jeopardize
this conclusion.
Let us discuss various aspects of the theory (2.3). We
follow the argumentation presented in [16, 17]. First, one
can write down the equations of motion:
(2.4)
(2.5)
(2.6)
where are constants. Many terms in the r.h.s. of this
equation are present also in (2.4), actually, at and
these equations coincide up to some numerical
coefficients, so, their solutions are not very different.
Substituting the FRW metric into (2.6), we arrive at
(2.7)
(2.8)
(2.9)
(2.10)
(2.11)
(2.12)
(2.13)
So, this theory has only one difficulty—it does not yield
Einstein-Hilbert limit which was tested through many
observations. Many aspects of the pure -gravity are
discussed in [26–29], see also references therein.
2.3 f(R)-Gravity
Clearly, the natural development of the idea of gravity
will consist in the suggestion that the classical action can
involve not only second but any degree (involving
negative!) of the scalar curvature. Thus, the concept of f(R)
gravity was introduced. Its action is given by (2.1), with
.
First of all, we can discuss the renormalizability of this
theory along the same lines as in the previous section. It is
easy to see that the term proportional to (or, which is
similar, to N-th degree or Riemann or Ricci tensors) is
characterized by the degree of divergence , in the four-
dimensional space-time given by
(2.14)
Immediately we see that now discussion of the
renormalizability is more involved than for (the
similar situation occurs for Horava-Lifshitz-like theories
where increasing of the critical exponent z implies in
growing not only of degree of momentum in the
denominator of the propagator but also of numbers of
derivatives in vertices). Actually, for any one should
classify possible divergences with various values of N for
the given n. Many examples of quantum calculations in
theories for various n, as well as in other higher-derivative
gravity theories, including studies of one-loop divergences
and running couplings are presented in [10], see also
references therein. It is clear that the ghosts will arise for
any polynomial form of f(R) just as in the case of -
gravity, so, conceptually the quantum calculations for
and for do not differ essentially (for discussion of
renormalizability aspects of f(R) gravity, see also [30]; also,
in [31] the renormalizability of a higher-derivative gravity
is argued with use of the BRST symmetry).
The main line of study of f(R) gravity consists in a
detailed investigation of its classical, especially
cosmological aspects. The modified Einstein equations in
this case look like
(2.15)
(2.16)
(2.17)
(2.18)
(2.19)
this is, (a)dS solution, and in the case of the negative sign,
at we indeed have an acceleration [20], so, this model
allows to explain accelerated expansion for the constant
curvature case.
Unfortunately, this model suffers from a tachyonic
instability. Indeed, after taking the trace of (2.18) we find
(2.20)
(2.21)
and in our signature this equation describes a
tachyon. Actually, this instability is very weak since is
expected to be very small, for the consistency with
observations, hence the first term in this equation is highly
suppressed. It should be noted that for a non-zero density
of the matter the instability is much worse, but adding the
term into the action improves radically the situation
[20]. Therefore this model was naturally treated as one of
candidates for solving the dark energy problem. However,
the model (2.17), in further works, was discussed mostly
within the cosmological context (see also a discussion of
asymptotic behavior of cosmological solutions in [32]).
Let us note some more issues related to f(R) gravity.
First, it was argued in [20] that the f(R) gravity model is
equivalent to a some scalar-tensor gravity. Indeed, let us
for the first step define , so is a
correcting term. Then, we introduce an auxiliary scalar
field . Since this equation relates R and , it
can be solved, so one obtains a dependence . As a
next step, the potential looking like
(2.22)
implying , is defined. As a result, the
Lagrangian (2.1) turns out to be equivalent to
(2.23)
Then, we carry out the conformal transformation of the
metric:
(2.24)
(2.26)
(2.27)
(2.29)
(2.30)
(2.31)
(2.32)
(2.33)
(2.35)
(2.36)
(2.37)
For the vacuum ( ) one immediately finds
which implies exponential expansion. For the fluid, also
there are hyperbolic and trigonometric solutions. So, we
conclude that the Lovelock gravity is consistent with
accelerating expansion of the Universe.
Concerning the general Lovelock theory, it must be
noted that already third-order contributions to the action,
those ones with six derivatives, imply very complicated
equations of motion. The explicit expressions for initial
terms of Lovelock Lagrangians up to fifteenth order (for
which, the whole expression involves tens of millions of
terms) can be found in [46].
Now, let us discuss the Gauss-Bonnet gravity in the
arbitrary spacetime dimension, that is, the theory with the
action
(2.38)
(2.39)
(2.41)
(2.42)
(2.43)
and the relative coefficient between two terms is
chosen in order to avoid arising of additional modes, in
particular, ghost ones.
Some discussions of this term are presented in [52].
Among various conclusions, it is argued there that, first,
the complete linearized massive gravity action given by the
sum of (1.13) and (2.43) describes the massive field with
spin 2, with no dynamical spin-0 modes are present. The
theory includes 5 C of freedom. Indeed, the l.h.s. of the
equations of motion for this theory is given by the sum of
the l.h.s. of the usual linearized Einstein equation (1.14)
and the term arising from our mass term.
Taking the divergence of these equations, we find
, and after simple manipulations we arrive
at the constraints and , which allow to
rewrite the Lagrange equation in the standard Proca-like
form . So, we have five constraints, and
hence there are five degrees of freedom. Certainly, their
interpretation is an additional problem. Moreover, there is
one more difficulty related with this theory—its propagator
involves terms quadratically increasing with the momenta
in the UV limit, i.e., it displays the confinement-like
behaviour. From the formal viewpoint, the reason for it
consists in the fact that, since the Lagrangian is not gauge
invariant, the corresponding propagator, instead of the
standard transversal projector includes the
operator (see discussion in [52]). Besides of
this worsening the UV behaviour, the presence of the non-
transversal naturally implies in a singularity at ,
so, the zero mass limit of our massive gravity is not well
defined (moreover, if one compares the propagators of two
theories, it turns out to be that the analogue of the last
term in (1.18) for the massive gravity carries the factor
instead of in (1.18), which complicates the problem of
the limit of our theory even more). The fact that the
massless limit of our theory is ill-defined is referred as van
Dam-Veltman-Zakharov (vDVZ) discontinuity originally
discussed in [53, 54]. This discontinuity has been proved to
generate problems also within the parametrized post-
Newtonian (PPN) expansion [52] (we note that the weak
field gravitational potential in the theory displays the
standard form ).
One more difficulty with the massless limit of the
massive gravity has been noted in [52], namely, if we try to
obtain Stückelberg-like extension of our mass terms in
order to re-establish the gauge symmetry, so that, first, we
introduce the extra vector field replacing
so that the term (2.43) becomes
gauge invariant under transformations ,
, as a result, the action for the field of the
form
(2.44)
(2.45)
ii
To leave the poets for the moment but to keep in the sense of an
exquisite color and form: Echo de Paris, by Laurence Housman, is a
bit of severely ornamented reminiscence which I think of first when
now I think of decorative prose—not so much because of its own
brief perfection as because of its subject. Oscar Wilde’s influence is
not a negligible thing in a contemporary literature which embraces
Cabell, Hergesheimer, Elinor Wylie, Carl Van Vechten, and others,
both American and English, who value words somewhat as James
Huneker valued them, for their sound, shape, smell and taste. I take
from the London Times a description of Echo de Paris:
“At the end of September, 1899, three friends are sitting in a café
near the Place de l’Opera. They are awaiting a guest for luncheon,
and from their amicable chatter we learn that it is Wilde who is
expected. Presently he appears, and while they take their aperitifs
holds his audience with that marvelous conversation which long
before had made him legendary. It is substantially the record of an
actual conversation, Mr. Housman tells us, for he was the host on
this occasion. Apart from the actuality of the setting, he has imagined
a dramatic incident which he believes, though symbolical, will
represent the existing emotional situation. As Wilde talks, with an
apparent indifference to his personal disaster, another man is seen
coming along the street. He advances toward the group, all of whom
he knows well, especially Wilde, who befriended him before his
imprisonment, but, after clearly recognizing them, passes on without
a sign. Wilde continues to weave his unwritten stories; but he has
been deeply hurt and gracefully disentangles himself from a
luncheon which, faced with the spectators of his pain, would have
been more than even he could bear.
“The difficulty of producing a reasonable imitation of Wilde’s
conversation has been overcome so successfully that we sometimes
feel that one of his essays is being read by one of the characters in
his comedies—there is that combination of verbal wit and bold
intellectual paradox. In these pages we are made to feel something
of the reality on which his reputation was built.”
Judges so diverse as Sinclair Lewis, James Branch Cabell, and
Carl Van Vechten have uttered words of extreme praise for Elinor
Wylie’s Jennifer Lorn. I don’t know of a recent work before which one
feels an equal impotence of the descriptive faculty. This novel of an
eighteenth century exquisite and his bride is as brightly enameled as
the period it deals with; every paragraph is lacquered. You have
perhaps stood long before some Eastern carpet with old rose,
cream, ivory and dark blue in enigmatical patterns, your eye
delighting in its intricacy. Have you tried afterward to tell someone
about it? Then, precisely, you know the difficulty of reporting Jennifer
Lorn. It is worth noting, though, that the novel does not merely
purvey an eighteenth century story; it seeks to purvey it, with
delicate, inner irony in the eighteenth century manner. The adroit
printing and binding in simulation of an eighteenth century format
was inevitable, perhaps; but it was not so inevitable that it should be
so delightfully well-done.
An autobiography would seem to belong in Chapter 12 of this
book; I saved out Thomas Burke’s autobiographical volume because
the spirit of it, and the color of his writing, seemed to place it here.
He calls it The Wind and the Rain; it is the most intimate book he has
ever written, and the best since Limehouse Nights (from some
standpoints it is better than that work). In The Wind and the Rain,
Thomas Burke returns to Limehouse, telling of his boyhood and
youth, of the squalor of his early years, of the loneliness and hunger
of his City days, of the moments of spiritual exaltation that came to
him at night in London streets. He recalls his friendship with old
Quong Lee, a storekeeper in the Causeway; his one-room house
with an Uncle; his adventures in the kitchen of the Big House at
Greenwich where his Uncle worked; his rapturous hours in the
street; his four wretched years in an orphanage; his running away
and being sheltered by the queer woman in the queer house; his first
job; his friendship with a girl of thirteen and its abrupt end; his
discovery of literature and pictures and music; his first short story
accepted when he was still an office-boy; and then his first success.
This somewhat long recitation speaks for itself and will kindle the
imagination of anyone who ever read Thomas Burke or saw Griffith’s
film, “Broken Blossoms.”
Hugh Walpole’s critical study of Anthony Trollope is welcome both
because a good account of Trollope is needed and because
Walpole’s own work used to be likened to that of the author of
Barchester Towers. I believe the comparison is pretty well obsolete—
Mr. Walpole is now rather the object than the subject of comparisons
—but those who know Walpole best have long known of his very
definite interest in Trollope and his gradual acquisition of materials
for a survey of Trollope’s work. The Anthony Trollope by Walpole is a
book to set beside Frank Swinnerton’s Gissing and R. L. Stevenson;
we have a right to hope that the fashion will spread among the
novelists; and I should like nothing better than to record a similar
book by Arnold Bennett, even if, as is very probable, he would
consent to do one only on a French subject—in which case he would
probably select Stendhal.
But this leads directly to the whole subject of literary discussions. It
is too big to deal with here, and yet I can’t drop it without some
reference to the two most provocative books of the sort in recent
memory. Dr. Joseph Collins is a well-known New York neurologist
whose literary hobby has been cultivated in private during a number
of years. It was the rich pungency of his conversation which first led
to insistences that he write a book about authors. He did. The Doctor
Looks at Literature, with its praise of Proust and its incisiveness
regarding D. H. Lawrence, its appreciation of Katherine Mansfield
and its penetrating study of James Joyce, was something new,
sparkling, resonant and simply not to be missed. Dr. Collins’s second
book, Taking the Literary Pulse, is as strongly brewed and as well-
flavored. I find it even more interesting because it deals to a much
greater extent with American writers—Sherwood Anderson, Edith
Wharton, Amy Lowell and others—and because of the
uncompromised utterance in the first chapter on literary censorship,
a subject which most discussion merely muddles.
iii
Of collections of essays, I have no hesitation in putting first the
anthology by F. H. Pritchard, Essays of To-Day. Not only are the
inclusions amply representative of the best work by contemporary
English essayists, but to my mind Mr. Pritchard has supplied, in his
Introduction, one of the most inspiring essays of the lot. He writes,
naturally, about the essay as a form of art, and shows quite simply
how the essay and the lyric poem are “the most intimate revelations
of personality that we have in literature.” His wisdom is equaled by a
power of expression which can best be intimated by quoting a few of
his words regarding the lyric:
“Ordered by the strict limitations of rhythm, and obedient to the
recurrences of rime and meter, the unruly ideas are fashioned into a
lyric, just as scattered particles, straying here and there, are drawn
together and fused into crystalline beauty. The difference, indeed, is
one of temperature”—the difference between lyric and essay. “The
metal bar, cold or lukewarm, will do anywhere, but heat it to melting-
point and you must confine it within the rigid limits of the mold or see
it at length but an amorphous splash at your feet.”
Then follow thirty-four selections, each prefaced by a short
biographical note on its author. Youth and old age, reminiscences,
the spirit of place and of holiday, and various interrelations between
life and letters are the subjects. Kenneth Grahame, Joseph Conrad,
Maurice Hewlett, E. V. Lucas, Robert Lynd, W. B. Yeats, Hilaire
Belloc, Rupert Brooke, C. E. Montague, E. Temple Thurston, Alice
Meynell, George Santayana, Gilbert K. Chesterton and Edmund
Gosse are some of the writers who achieve inclusion; and the variety
of the essays is great—irony, humor, romantic feeling, delight in
places and sadness all have their moment.
Such a collection, one feels, cannot but lead the reader to books
by some of the authors represented; and I hope such readers will not
miss Robert Lynd’s The Blue Lion. Here are some chapters dealing
apparently with children, birds, flowers, taverns and the like, but
animated by that interest in, sympathy for and appreciation of human
nature which is the field of the essay’s most fertile cultivation.
It is, to a great extent, the field which Robert Cortes Holliday has
occupied himself with since the day of his Walking-Stick Papers; and
while the title of his new book is Literary Lanes and Other Byways,
the “other byways” are frequently the most engaging to tread. Mr.
Holliday, for example, has been interviewing the ancient waiters on
the subject of the golden years at a lost Delmonico’s; and he has
also become an authority on nightwear. But there is plenty of contact
between life and literature in Literary Lanes. One essay is devoted to
the subject of the vamp in literature; another to books as presents;
another harvests bons mots from the inner circles of celebrated wits;
“and,” as Mr. Holliday would say, “and so on.”
Stephen McKenna’s By Intervention of Providence is a felicitous
blend of diary, essay and short story, written by this novelist during
an extended visit to the West Indies. The atmosphere of the West
India islands is conveyed with some care, while the digressions to
the essay or the short story are anecdotal, philosophical, and
frequently humorous. “From day to day,” Mr. McKenna explains, “I
set down whatever fancy tempted me to write. The result can only be
called ‘Essays’ in the Johnsonian sense of that word. I desire no
more accurate definition of what is in part a series of letters, in part a
journal, in part vagrant reminiscences, in part idle reflection, in part
stories which I do not ask the reader to believe.” But the potpourri,
however unusual, will be welcomed alike by the traveler and the
arm-chair tourist.
iv
The return to poetry must not be deferred longer. And first let me
speak of John Farrar’s book of verse, The Middle Twenties, which is
more than usually interesting because it is the first collection of his
serious work in a half dozen years. There has been none since his
book, Forgotten Shrines. I do not forget Songs for Parents, but that
is somewhat of a piece with his book of plays for children, The Magic
Sea Shell, and it is likely it would continue popular for this reason
alone. His work as an editor and an anthologist, with many other
activities, have tended to obscure Farrar the poet, and have certainly
taken time and energy the poet could ill spare. But I know that much
of the hardest work Mr. Farrar has done these past few years has
been upon the verse in The Middle Twenties. The result ought to
satisfy him, though probably it won’t; he is not easily pleased with his
own work. But all the poems in The Middle Twenties keep to a high
level and the volume has more than variety, it has positive and
effective contrast. Whether he is most successful in the “Amaryllis”
group, gay and rollicking, or in the savage pain and passion of “The
Squaw” is for the reader’s own decision. But from the flaming “Ego,”
the opening poem, to the fine understanding of such work as “War
Women” the book affords a range of subject, treatment, and
emotional feeling which leaves no reader indifferent.
Nellie Burget Miller’s In Earthen Bowls explains its title in these
lines which open the book:
ii
He was born in Kansas City, Missouri, 31 October 1886, the son of
Baltimore Thomas Cooper and Catherine (Grenolds) Cooper. He is a
descendant of the Calverts, Lords of Baltimore, and of other settlers
of Maryland and Virginia. He ran away from school in Kansas City to
become water-boy and clown in a circus. He also became an actor,
bill distributor, property man and song and dance artist with bad
repertory companies playing “East Lynne,” “In Old Kentucky,” “The
James Boys in Missouri” and other classics of the road.
He has been a newsboy, a trucker, a glove salesman, a
monologist in vaudeville, a circus press agent, a newspaper man,
and general manager of the world’s second largest circus.
He began writing at 24, a play, “the world’s worst play,” he says. It
was produced in Kansas City “and I had to sit and watch the darned
thing for two weeks.” Then he began to write magazine stories. So
great has been his output that at least five pen names have been
necessary. They are Barney Furey, William O. Grenolds, Jack
Harlow, Frederick Tierney and Leonard B. Hollister. He has written
as much as 45,000 words of fiction in three days—or days and
nights. As a newspaper man he has written eight columns (1,200
words to the column) in two hours. For such excesses he naturally
pays in an inability to walk, eat or sleep for some immediate time
afterward. It might be supposed that the work so turned out would be
mere machine-made stuff, but this is not true. However, the ability to
write at such speed has necessitated a small staff to gather the
writer’s material.
There are several reasons why Mr. Cooper could never gather it
all himself. He married, in 1916, Genevieve R. Furey, of Los
Angeles, and they have a pleasant home in Idaho Springs, Colorado.
Mr. Cooper gets his recreation in the mountains round about. But the
stuff for the hundreds of stories he has written of circus life and
jungle animal life cannot be renewed except from elsewhere. It
cannot be renewed and added to sufficiently except—almost literally
—from everywhere. After all, Mr. Cooper has contributed stories to
more than half a hundred magazines. And if he were to stop writing
to gather material——!
“I have a little circus all my own,” he explains. He knows nearly
everything that is happening in all the big shows. He keeps up an
uninterrupted correspondence with circus people and he has five
persons on his payroll at all times. One is a man who makes a
specialty of circus pictures. Another is a lion trainer who has trained
as many as thirty lions in one den. Whenever he has some unusual
incident of animal behavior to report, he writes to Cooper. A third
member of the little staff is an all-round animal man, menagerie
superintendent and “bullman.” A fourth is a highly educated woman
with ten years’ experience in training lions, tigers, leopards and
elephants. Mr. Cooper pays her a salary and she takes
“assignments,” just as if she were a reporter—which, in fact, she is in
this work. She is a reporter on animals, their training, and their
characteristics. The fifth employee is a circus clown who sends a
regular monthly letter reporting things that happen under the big top.
There is, besides, a large number of volunteer correspondents,
friends of long standing.
Mr. Cooper has used his material both directly, in the form of
articles, and in stories. While he was on his way from clown to
general manager of the circus, he became deeply interested in
jungle animals and discovered a great many human traits (or traits
parallel, if you prefer) in them. He himself, it must be remembered,
has been in the training dens with leopards, lions, tigers and pumas;
and he has been in with as many as six lions and tigers at one time.
He looks, in certain poses, remarkably like Eric von Stroheim, and
the camera sometimes brings out the multitude of his freckles. He is
bald and enjoys baldness. Better company is not to be had, and this
is only partly due to the innumerable anecdotes at his command.
Many of these grow out of his association with Buffalo Bill, whose
personal secretary he was for a while and whose biographer (with
Buffalo Bill’s widow, Mrs. W. F. Cody) he became. There is, for
example, the story of the time when Cooper contracted with a
clipping bureau for newspaper notices. They were to be ten cents
each. They arrived—a bale—and with them a bill for $134.90. With a
single exception, they consisted of 1,348 clippings about the Buffalo
baseball team, which was much to the fore owing to the temporary
existence of the Federal League.
Cooper also told this story at a Dutch Treat Club luncheon in New
York:
“Colonel Cody arrived home unexpectedly early one morning.
Going to his wife’s bedroom window he tapped on the glass, calling:
‘It’s all right; let me in.’ ‘Go away,’ said Mrs. Cody. ‘This is Buffalo
Bill’s house, and I’m his wife, and I can shoot, too.’ Buffalo Bill, sore,
remounted his horse and rode off to a neighboring saloon.
Eventually he returned home, galloping up the driveway and on to
the veranda of the house, letting out Whoops the While. As he
reached the door a gentle voice greeted him from behind it: ‘Is that
you, Willie dear?’”
iii
In 1918 Mr. Cooper enlisted as a private in the United States
Marines. Very shortly he was commissioned as a second lieutenant
and sent to France to collate historical matter for the Marine Corps.
He has a very exceptional talent for handling people in masses,
and has sometimes been requisitioned by motion picture people and
others who had spectacles to produce. As the talent is coupled with
a talent for creative organization at least equal, the life of a writer
represents a deliberate sacrifice of money on Cooper’s part. For
example:
Wild West shows, rodeos and bucking horse contests are one of
his hobbies. A few years ago he ran the first Annual Round-up at
Colorado Springs. In three days the show took in $19,800 gate
money. And the whole show, from the announcement, building of
grandstands to seat 8,000 persons, hiring of cowboys, wild horses,
bucking broncos, steers for bulldogging, advertising and everything
else, was put on in less than three weeks. Overtures piled in on
Cooper to go into the business in other places. In the end, he
refused contracts for $150,000 for two years’ work.
iv
His books have been of two principal kinds, novels of the West
and the two volumes, Under the Big Top and Lions ’n’ Tigers ’n’
Everything! that spring from the circus. The novels are The Cross-
Cut, The White Desert, and The Last Frontier, in that order. Are they
simply the usual “Westerns”? No. There is in The Cross-Cut that
quality of humor, that enjoyment of a capital hoax, which first cut out
from the stampeding herd of Western stories Owen Wister’s The
Virginian. Almost everyone, recalling Mr. Wister’s novel, thinks of the
opening scene in which the cowboys, like Little Buttercup in Mr.
Gilbert’s “Pinafore,” “mixed those babies up.” That affair, so
refreshingly different in its realism and sense of scandalous fun from
the sentimental heroics of other Western tales, is easily recalled
when most other incidents of The Virginian are forgotten. Similarly
one recalls with fresh amusement the ruse whereby ’Arry ’Arkins got
the Blue Poppy mine unwatered. Messrs. Fairchild and ’Arkins had
very little capital; but by a convincing effect of drowning in the mine,
the whole community was stirred to rescue the presumed corpse of
’Arkins; machinery that the two men could not have hired was set to
work pumping, and by the time the hoax was revealed, the mine was
dry.
The White Desert has nothing to do with sand and alkali but is a
story of the bleak, white stretches of the Continental Divide, where
the world is a world of precipices, blue-green ice, and snow-spray
carried on the beating wings of never-resting gales. It is the tale of a
lumber camp and of a highly dramatic, last ditch struggle. Mr. Cooper
admits that the first chapters were from an experience of his own. On
the Berthoud Pass, 11,300 feet high, his speedster broke down. Now
safety speed on the roads thereabouts is possibly fifteen miles an
hour. The grades sometimes run as high as eighteen and twenty per
cent. With no windshield, no gears to aid his brakes, no goggles and
a sprained steering gear, Mr. Cooper was towed on these mountain
roads by a largely liquored gentleman in a truck at a speed of
twenty-five miles an hour. Mr. Cooper was bald before this
happened....
Essentially, The Cross-Cut and The White Desert are stories; The
Last Frontier, with no sacrifice of story interest, can stake a claim of
more importance. Like certain novels of Emerson Hough’s[82] and
Hal G. Evarts’s, this is an accurate and alive presentation of
American history in the guise of fiction. The period is 1867-68 when,
as an aftermath of the Civil War, many impoverished families sought
the unsettled frontier lands. The Kansas-Pacific Railway, a link
between East and West, was under construction, its every mile
contested by the Indians. It was the period when Buffalo Bill made
his reputation as a buffalo hunter and Indian scout; when General
Custer nearly wore himself out hunting Indians; when the Battle of
Beecher’s Island aroused the nation. Buffalo Bill, Custer, and the
building of the railroad are the true subjects of this fine romance
which ends when the great stampede has failed. “The buffalo were
gone. Likewise the feathered beings who had striven to use them as
a bulwark and had failed—enfiladed by scouts, volleyed by cavalry,
their bodies were strewn in the valley with the carcasses of the
buffalo.” Within months Custer was to come back, and in triumph.
The “golden-haired general” was to ride to the battle of Washita “at
the head of the greatest army of troops ever sent against the red
man.... There would be other frontiers—true. But they would be
sectional things, not keystones, such as this had been.”
These novels, in their order, mark a growth in the writer’s stature;
and Mr. Cooper, like others who show growth, has humility as well as
ambition. The thing he has in mind to do, possibly in his next novel,
is more difficult than anything he has done—an attempt to take a few
contemporary lives and view them in the perspective that history
affords. This, of course, is very hard to do. Certainly Sinclair Lewis
did not do it in Main Street, and no amount of exact, faithful, realistic
detail accomplishes it. It can only be done by simplifying one’s
material so that a few humble people are seen as typifying human
endeavor. But if the effort is successful, the result will mean as much
in one century as in another, and the work will live.
v
Mr. Cooper’s two books based on the circus accomplish
something that no one else, so far as I know, has even attempted.
They make a permanent and fascinating record of a truly American
institution. Under the Big Top presents the circus as a whole,
although five of the eleven chapters are concerned with the circus
animals. Lions ’n’ Tigers ’n’ Everything is wholly about the
menagerie.
The first of these books is a curious illustration of the breach
ordinarily existing between literature and life. Although, in the
complexities of a surface civilization, the circus may hold less
significance for Americans today than fifty or forty or even twenty
years ago, most of us were brought up to go to the circus. Or, at any
rate, went. The formative influence of the circus on American
character is incalculably great. Yet neither literature nor formal
education took any cognizance of the circus tent. Public officials, as
Mr. Cooper points out, very generally took into consideration the
educational value of circus animals when fixing license fees. But that
was about all the notice of value the circus got. Where were books
on the circus? When was the circus reckoned with by the
professional analysts of American character? How far has present-
day American advertising acknowledged its immense debt to the
traveling show? What Matthew Arnold or James Bryce coming to our
shores to examine American character and lacking, possibly, the
wisdom of the serpent acquired the Wisdom of the circus? And our
psychologists busied with delicate tests on the nerve-endings of
frogs; were they dumb-bells so long? They were. They went not to
the circus, the sluggards; they examined not its ways.
Yet it would be true to say that the circus is the one most typical
American institution. Between the American circus and the traveling
shows of other lands no comparison is possible. In size, in variety, in
achievements of audacity, devotion and courage, the American big
tent show has no rival. It is, to begin with, playing around in a country
which is to most other countries as a ten-acre field is to a city lot. Its
self-reliance must be complete. Its morale, especially in the days of
its greatest importance, has had to be high and unwavering; for
otherwise-excellent people have been its unrelenting foes. At the
same time the circus has been something much more than a
spectacle; frequently it has been a coöperative enterprise. Mr.
Cooper gives some idea of the innumerable occasions on which the
American small boy, judiciously and fairly rewarded with a free ticket,
has pulled the circus out of some insuperable physical difficulty. The
circus was the original discoverer of the most important element in
American psychology, the love of bigness and display, the admiration
for achievement in size. It was the circus which first put in firm
practice the important principle of human nature which time merely
refines upon: the desire to be bunked: and the circus drew the
correct line between bunk and bunco and with the fewest exceptions
steered clear of bunco.
Now in Under The Big Top, Mr. Cooper, who naturally knows
circuses, gayly gives the whole show away—a process which a good
show can come out of with colors flying. And the circus does. The
gist of the book, the real why of the circus, will be found in that
rousing final chapter written upon the text:
RAIN OR SHINE
THE WORLD’S GREATEST SHOW
WILL POSITIVELY APPEAR
Here are stories of that ultimate sheer persistence which is the
spirit of the circus and, pretty nearly, the history of the nation to
which it belongs.
vi
The chapters on animals in Under the Big Top led directly to Mr.
Cooper’s Lions ’n’ Tigers ’n’ Everything, which is the menagerie
inside out. In the course of long study of caged and captive jungle
creatures, and aided by the continuous study of his staff-helpers, Mr.
Cooper has found no human emotion which these animals do not
exhibit at some time or other in appropriate circumstances. “I have
seen jealousy, insanity, hallucination, the highest kind of love
including mother love, the fiercest brand of hate, trickery, cunning
and revenge. I have seen gratitude. The only desire I will exclude as
not being common to humans and animals is the desire for money.
There is a corresponding animal desire, however. It is horse meat.
Horse meat is the currency of the animal kingdom.”[83]
The extraordinary instance of Casey, a giant, black-faced
chimpanzee[84] captured in infancy in the Cape Lopez district of
Africa, has suggested to Mr. Cooper that something most remarkably
approaching a man could be bred from a monkey in as few as four
generations. Not a physical likeness, but mental, is the prospect.
Enough apes of Casey’s type would be necessary to avoid
inbreeding, and the first generation born in captivity would have to be
subjected to wholly human contacts.[85] About 150 years would be
required for the experiment.
But Lions ’n’ Tigers ’n’ Everything is a book of fact, not of theories.
It is most valuable, perhaps, in its contrast between the old and new
methods of animal training. Mr. Cooper shows in the first chapter the
transformation that has come about:
“The circus animal trainer of today is not chosen for his brutality, or
his cunning, or his so-called bravery. He is hired because he has
studied and knows animals—even to talking their various
‘languages.’ There are few real animal trainers who cannot gain an
answer from their charges, talking to them as the ordinary person
talks to a dog and receiving as intelligent attention. Animal men have
learned that the brute isn’t any different from the human; the surest
way to make him work is to pay him for his trouble. In the steel arena
today ... the animals are just so many hired hands. When they do
their work, they get their pay.... The present-day trainer doesn’t cow
the animal or make it afraid of him.... The first thing to be eliminated
is not fear on the part of the trainer, but on the part of the animal!...
Sugar for dogs, carrots for elephants, fish for seals, stale bread for